Well just a few hours to me being a year older and it's pressing in me a great big sigh.
I've refused to tell people my birthday and I worry that someone might remember and ruin it all.I just want to see how it would feel like to be completely unremembered for once.
But maybe, just maybe, it's also a test. I want to know how much my old "friends" even remember me. Be it a small text or anything, I wonder who will. It always seems to me that people can never remember the exact day of my birthday and I suppose it's because I'm that insignificant.
But I'm training myself to be nonchalant and so I don't care.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Saturday, April 26, 2014
First week of school
I've been feeling pretty sad and depressed and lost and detached this past week mainly because of school. Before, I never really understood why people made a big fuss and kicked up groans and moans even though the full school load hasn't even showed up yet. But now I understand all that.
I walked into class with ten minutes to spare and the first thing I saw was cliques. Everyone was already huddled into their own prissy comfy cliques at each table so I inwardly rolled my eyes my uterus felt a dip and sat by myself at another table which thankfully, was empty. Later on another group came in and out of kindness and some sort of pity they all sat at the table I was at (They were P and A respectively and I think weeks down the road I will grow to appreciate their seemingly small yet thoughtful act.)
At break I immersed myself in some newly found indie music and read a rather engrossing book so that's when Shan came over to come and talk to me. Neither of his close friends were in our class and I could tell by the way he sort of flitted all over the class trying to make conversation with people that he sort of missed them dearly. Eventually he ended up back in my table again and I am ashamed to say that I was a rather bad conversationalist because I was still brimming from irritation at the cliques already formed and that I was starting to feel lonely and that people were being out rightly fake in the morning. With the exception of Shan. He is a lovely person. (You will see later that the subsequent days throughout this week he would just sort of sit beside me if he saw I was alone at a table in an effort to keep me company, which I didn't mind.)
A lot of it was just painfully awkward stares and smiles and even more awkward laughter and some witty exchanges and he eventually said, "You know, you're alright. You really are." I'm not sure what he meant by that but it probably meant something good.
It was only the next day that actual group work started and from there I formed my judgments on the not-so-good-workers. It really did not help that I had a classmate from the previous semester notorious for her hogging work or not doing work at all and having some sort of strange weird put on accent with her high pitched voice. Already she formed alliances with someone else less prominent than her but of the same work ethic (or lack of it) and there was that, a pair. It fit. They belonged together.
The following day I was in the same group as the both of them and whatever threshold for tolerance I had processed in me diminished to irritation, all masked under my effort to look solidly calm, cool, collected and sure. The after effect left an ugly aftertaste at my behalf and by then I decided I didn't care anymore what people thought of me. I was there to learn, to excel and to dominate. Being sociable counts for nothing, I learnt that the hard way.
By the fourth day of school I'd more or less established the fact that I was an anti-social individual what with my penchant for sitting at empty tables and not having the initiative to socialize. Nobody wanted to sit beside me, save for the earlier two I'd mentioned earlier, and my words didn't come across in my presentations. But I'll make sure that changes because everyone has to be a little afraid of me, juts a little. They need to fear my facade-that's all that matters. I've been sick and tired of the fake bright cheerfulness and the only mask I'll put on would be for presentations. Other than that it's just me.
The last day of school I finally decided to sneak out during break to a cafe in school after being huddled up in the class for the past few days. I enjoyed the tiny liberty at having my lunch on my own, but perhaps I chose a wrong place to sit- I was far too obvious because about 15 minutes later I was spotted. A few of my female classmates, (in their cliques again) called out to ask why I was on my own and my face flushed red hot with embarrassment. The thing is, I wasn't embarrassed at being alone. I was ashamed of having been seen all by myself, like a little sliver of armor had been stripped off me, leaving me susceptible and vulnerable. I hated myself then for being seen and I wanted to disappear. Of course, thy invited me to sit with them and I shook my head hard, feigning surprise at seeing them, faking (sigh) another smile and insisted that I was almost done anyway. I caught a glimpse of A staring at me in mixture of pity and in credulousness and I turned away before I embarrassed myself further. Too out in the open, I should have sat somewhere hidden.
After that I sort of wandered off on my own while waiting for our excursion bus to come. Shan saw me and then asked if he could sit with me and I said yes. He's got this very comfortable and safe presence about him and his girlfriend is very lucky I must say. Again, we hardly talked and sort of stared in unison with a strange curiosity at a hopping myna bird and then at people walking past. "Are you always this quiet?" He asked and I think I just shrugged and said it depends on the people I'm with. "So you're different in class and outside class?" He probed. He was referring to the time he saw me in the media lab with Falliq and I was being all cheerful and bright and laughing. But I was with Falliq. Everything with him is different because he's just so effing funny and dramatic. I simply made a few tangible facial expressions that didn't really say anything.
Other than that, Shan being there just made me want to bask in his safe presence and it didn't make me feel like wanting to engage in empty banter to fill the silence. It says a lot. It's like me and Vicki.
However, I did feel a twinge of guilt because I knew that he was trying to be friendly and that he missed all his close friends and he probably felt the same way I did. Me keeping awkwardly silent probably didn't help his situation much, but the thing is, I didn't even feel like trying anymore.
I know this silent detachment is all my choice. It's exhausting to be around people but it's also exhausting to have to slog inwardly to desperately try to find something in you to fill you up. This past week I've been feeling increasingly sad and I have the strangest sensation that there's this humongous teardrop in me waiting to fall. I keep waiting for it to fall so I can succumb to it and sob and let it all out and emerge strong and cold and ruthless again. But I'm waiting and waiting and it still hasn't come. It worries me, because I know that the more it's held in, the harder it will be to control it when it does come pouring out. I keep trying to remind why I'm doing this; eluding myself from being friendly and sociable. It has to go on so they get the message and they stay away and stop coming out to reach out. I fill myself being painfully ripped apart from the inside slowly every day. Help me.
I walked into class with ten minutes to spare and the first thing I saw was cliques. Everyone was already huddled into their own prissy comfy cliques at each table so I inwardly rolled my eyes my uterus felt a dip and sat by myself at another table which thankfully, was empty. Later on another group came in and out of kindness and some sort of pity they all sat at the table I was at (They were P and A respectively and I think weeks down the road I will grow to appreciate their seemingly small yet thoughtful act.)
At break I immersed myself in some newly found indie music and read a rather engrossing book so that's when Shan came over to come and talk to me. Neither of his close friends were in our class and I could tell by the way he sort of flitted all over the class trying to make conversation with people that he sort of missed them dearly. Eventually he ended up back in my table again and I am ashamed to say that I was a rather bad conversationalist because I was still brimming from irritation at the cliques already formed and that I was starting to feel lonely and that people were being out rightly fake in the morning. With the exception of Shan. He is a lovely person. (You will see later that the subsequent days throughout this week he would just sort of sit beside me if he saw I was alone at a table in an effort to keep me company, which I didn't mind.)
A lot of it was just painfully awkward stares and smiles and even more awkward laughter and some witty exchanges and he eventually said, "You know, you're alright. You really are." I'm not sure what he meant by that but it probably meant something good.
It was only the next day that actual group work started and from there I formed my judgments on the not-so-good-workers. It really did not help that I had a classmate from the previous semester notorious for her hogging work or not doing work at all and having some sort of strange weird put on accent with her high pitched voice. Already she formed alliances with someone else less prominent than her but of the same work ethic (or lack of it) and there was that, a pair. It fit. They belonged together.
The following day I was in the same group as the both of them and whatever threshold for tolerance I had processed in me diminished to irritation, all masked under my effort to look solidly calm, cool, collected and sure. The after effect left an ugly aftertaste at my behalf and by then I decided I didn't care anymore what people thought of me. I was there to learn, to excel and to dominate. Being sociable counts for nothing, I learnt that the hard way.
By the fourth day of school I'd more or less established the fact that I was an anti-social individual what with my penchant for sitting at empty tables and not having the initiative to socialize. Nobody wanted to sit beside me, save for the earlier two I'd mentioned earlier, and my words didn't come across in my presentations. But I'll make sure that changes because everyone has to be a little afraid of me, juts a little. They need to fear my facade-that's all that matters. I've been sick and tired of the fake bright cheerfulness and the only mask I'll put on would be for presentations. Other than that it's just me.
The last day of school I finally decided to sneak out during break to a cafe in school after being huddled up in the class for the past few days. I enjoyed the tiny liberty at having my lunch on my own, but perhaps I chose a wrong place to sit- I was far too obvious because about 15 minutes later I was spotted. A few of my female classmates, (in their cliques again) called out to ask why I was on my own and my face flushed red hot with embarrassment. The thing is, I wasn't embarrassed at being alone. I was ashamed of having been seen all by myself, like a little sliver of armor had been stripped off me, leaving me susceptible and vulnerable. I hated myself then for being seen and I wanted to disappear. Of course, thy invited me to sit with them and I shook my head hard, feigning surprise at seeing them, faking (sigh) another smile and insisted that I was almost done anyway. I caught a glimpse of A staring at me in mixture of pity and in credulousness and I turned away before I embarrassed myself further. Too out in the open, I should have sat somewhere hidden.
After that I sort of wandered off on my own while waiting for our excursion bus to come. Shan saw me and then asked if he could sit with me and I said yes. He's got this very comfortable and safe presence about him and his girlfriend is very lucky I must say. Again, we hardly talked and sort of stared in unison with a strange curiosity at a hopping myna bird and then at people walking past. "Are you always this quiet?" He asked and I think I just shrugged and said it depends on the people I'm with. "So you're different in class and outside class?" He probed. He was referring to the time he saw me in the media lab with Falliq and I was being all cheerful and bright and laughing. But I was with Falliq. Everything with him is different because he's just so effing funny and dramatic. I simply made a few tangible facial expressions that didn't really say anything.
Other than that, Shan being there just made me want to bask in his safe presence and it didn't make me feel like wanting to engage in empty banter to fill the silence. It says a lot. It's like me and Vicki.
However, I did feel a twinge of guilt because I knew that he was trying to be friendly and that he missed all his close friends and he probably felt the same way I did. Me keeping awkwardly silent probably didn't help his situation much, but the thing is, I didn't even feel like trying anymore.
I know this silent detachment is all my choice. It's exhausting to be around people but it's also exhausting to have to slog inwardly to desperately try to find something in you to fill you up. This past week I've been feeling increasingly sad and I have the strangest sensation that there's this humongous teardrop in me waiting to fall. I keep waiting for it to fall so I can succumb to it and sob and let it all out and emerge strong and cold and ruthless again. But I'm waiting and waiting and it still hasn't come. It worries me, because I know that the more it's held in, the harder it will be to control it when it does come pouring out. I keep trying to remind why I'm doing this; eluding myself from being friendly and sociable. It has to go on so they get the message and they stay away and stop coming out to reach out. I fill myself being painfully ripped apart from the inside slowly every day. Help me.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
By way of explanation (sort of)
I've been tactless in my desperation to be alone, doing it in an undesirable manner that's hurt the people around me. I cannot be with people because of my self centredness, yet I need them. I need people like you...her.
In
a fit of silent, selfish frenzy I'd overlooked the various bouts of her
kindness and worry that overshadowed me. But despite it all, instead of the
thought comforting me like a lone burning lamp on a dark quiet night, it
continued to rock me with guilt- the hating remorse bludgeoning me to a
decadent spiral, knocking all pride out of my head leaving my head and heart in
a tangled, throbbing mess that soon became a constant part of me. I revelled in
the shame of my morbid unthinking selfishness yet embraced it all in quiet
sepulchral victory.
Nobody, not even myself could explain why I chose to do what I did. Deep down, weaved into the crevices of my conscience, I knew I was being cruel detaching myself from the people who loved me the most.
I know she tried extremely hard to the best of her abilities to prod through my heart and understand this part of me she had never experienced before. But then, that one hot afternoon when she personally sent a brown envelope at my door ( my brother was the one who claimed the sighting and I hid my relief at the fact that I was crouched admittedly like a cowardly snail in the comfort of the drawn curtains in my room) it was met with a mix of dismay, perhaps slight indifference, but of which eventually gave way to a kind of strange, festering furiousness that I discovered I was feeding on for days after.
In her cutesy writings she asked if I was alright and all kinds of things like what she planned to do that afternoon and for the rest of the holidays. She ended off saying she missed me. When I rummaged through the contents of the envelope I found a drawing of a pug (I heard you find them cute, she had scribbled) a sticker pad (I am not a fan of stickers unless they peel off cleanly with no filthy residue to mark its cheapness and poor make) and two rings (which, according to her, were made by people with down syndrome and purchased for a good cause). I laid them all out in front of me, staring at the little thoughtful things and wondered if I was going to burst into tears for what I had done. They seemed harmless in their innocence-sweet even- yet foreboding as they lay on my bed expecting something in return. Perhaps an explanation, a quick call to say thank- you- and- sorry -and let’s- go- out- for- ice cream. My breath was strangely calm, refusing to convulse into uncontrollable gasps. But then I felt horribly mad at her. How could anyone, ANYONE at all put me in such a position? In all my running ins with friendships, once I decided to detach myself from people, nobody would run after me and ask what's wrong. I would wish to be left alone but deep inside in was the yearning for someone to reach out, pull me into a loving embrace and tell me everything would be alright. But here was this girl, cutting the waters clear and chasing hard enough to not lose me and trying to make sure I was okay. I felt like I was in a cave, huddled up but kept to hunker and scrounge right in and eventually hibernate in a dark and lonely corner, exhausted from being chased.
I was angry, because it felt like she was dangling a credibly safe light for me to hang on and pull me out from my desolation, but I wasn't ready yet. I wasn't ready to escape this perplexing depression and morbid coldness. I think I even secretly enjoyed it.
And so I took one last look at all the things she had sent me, decided to not take into consideration how she had gone out of the way to ensure my state did not reduce me to suicide, packed it all up in the thin brown envelope and kept it under a pile of heavy books where I promptly forgot about it all a week later.
Monday, March 31, 2014
ey what's up
I've been moderately busy throughout my holidays and despite all the groans and complaints about having to trudge back to school nearly every week and brave the heat and humidity and give birth to new brain cells, I have to admit I enjoy being occupied with something.
Basically two weeks of march was spent going out to shoot for a project, and now we're in the midst of editing. Although of course, I'm keeping my hands clean from all the technicalities so I find myself coming back for orientation meetings (I am a lame ass game master) and of course, of course muay thai. Ah muay thai. Every day I find myself falling even more in love with the sport. People think it's brutal and mindless, what with all the punching and kicking, but I think it's a beautiful thing because of it's traditions and customs tied to it, as well as the values that come along.
Initially my mother was very supportive of it, remarking that I should get myself up and fit. I later realized that she wasn't really taking me quite as seriously as I'd hoped, carelessly saying that my school's muay thai was simply "aerobics". It rendered me furious and gave me a renewed goal to prove to her how wrong she actually was. As weeks went by, I found myself suffering from more and more muscle pulls, pains and bruises and I made the mistake of telling her. She, along with my father all of a sudden sported a protective front and expressed their out of no-where distaste of me taking up muay thai. Now it seems, according to them, every time I get punched or kicked brutally by someone from the class, it provides good reason for me to quit. The thought infuriates me because I think of all the energy I spent on coming for trainings, letting out my all. The hugest hurdle I had to overcome was feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, wearing a hijab to trainings and fearing being judged or snickered at by the others. Of course none of that matters anymore, but I still think of my very first class and how hard my heart was thumping at the fear of being outcast or looked down on. It was more or less one sole reason that allowed me to give my all and pummel everything out there, show them that just because I looked different, I wasn't all that different after all.
I've met the greatest people there. It awes me that the older ones slow down and take into consideration that there are newcomers so they do all they can to make us comfortable. They are immensely patient in their firmness and beyond understanding it really is very touching. I think only last week this one senior kept saying how my punches weren't up to standard (more or less hinted it) and would stand on vigil with his arms crossed till I got it. When we went on to kicking I tried my hand...er..leg at it and looked up at him for approval. I'll never forget how widely he beamed, just like a proud father and remarked, "Ah...so you're a kicker, not a puncher!" I'd never felt so confident of myself in weeks.
Well anyway I'll wrap up since this post is getting a tad too long. There are about three more weeks left before school starts and I better cherish it aka stay in bed a whole lot more. My mind has been a whirlwind of emotions and I've affected people with my stubborn bouts of mild depression (so not cool) and I think I owe a lot of explanations to people but it can wait. cheerios.
Basically two weeks of march was spent going out to shoot for a project, and now we're in the midst of editing. Although of course, I'm keeping my hands clean from all the technicalities so I find myself coming back for orientation meetings (I am a lame ass game master) and of course, of course muay thai. Ah muay thai. Every day I find myself falling even more in love with the sport. People think it's brutal and mindless, what with all the punching and kicking, but I think it's a beautiful thing because of it's traditions and customs tied to it, as well as the values that come along.
Initially my mother was very supportive of it, remarking that I should get myself up and fit. I later realized that she wasn't really taking me quite as seriously as I'd hoped, carelessly saying that my school's muay thai was simply "aerobics". It rendered me furious and gave me a renewed goal to prove to her how wrong she actually was. As weeks went by, I found myself suffering from more and more muscle pulls, pains and bruises and I made the mistake of telling her. She, along with my father all of a sudden sported a protective front and expressed their out of no-where distaste of me taking up muay thai. Now it seems, according to them, every time I get punched or kicked brutally by someone from the class, it provides good reason for me to quit. The thought infuriates me because I think of all the energy I spent on coming for trainings, letting out my all. The hugest hurdle I had to overcome was feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, wearing a hijab to trainings and fearing being judged or snickered at by the others. Of course none of that matters anymore, but I still think of my very first class and how hard my heart was thumping at the fear of being outcast or looked down on. It was more or less one sole reason that allowed me to give my all and pummel everything out there, show them that just because I looked different, I wasn't all that different after all.
I've met the greatest people there. It awes me that the older ones slow down and take into consideration that there are newcomers so they do all they can to make us comfortable. They are immensely patient in their firmness and beyond understanding it really is very touching. I think only last week this one senior kept saying how my punches weren't up to standard (more or less hinted it) and would stand on vigil with his arms crossed till I got it. When we went on to kicking I tried my hand...er..leg at it and looked up at him for approval. I'll never forget how widely he beamed, just like a proud father and remarked, "Ah...so you're a kicker, not a puncher!" I'd never felt so confident of myself in weeks.
Well anyway I'll wrap up since this post is getting a tad too long. There are about three more weeks left before school starts and I better cherish it aka stay in bed a whole lot more. My mind has been a whirlwind of emotions and I've affected people with my stubborn bouts of mild depression (so not cool) and I think I owe a lot of explanations to people but it can wait. cheerios.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Suppression
It's when I lie to myself and to people about how I think I have feelings for someone. How I pretend that they're the kindest and the gentlest and the most thoughtful (they actually really are) and all that. And how it's that little perfect flaw in them that makes them so appealing.
But it's not all gold, because it isn't true. They could be kind and nice and all that, but it just gives me a rather convenient reason as to why they're just right to fall for. The fact that I've never let out who I've truly fallen for just shows how much I have to strive to keep this in; suppress it, and continue to pretend.
It is strange to say I cannot pin point where it all started but maybe it could have been the way you said my name. Maybe how sometimes you'd look at me in this way I can never describe. How sometimes we'd cross each other's paths and regard each other with a nonchalance so deep, it'd cut me through. Maybe that's how I knew- that it would hurt if you ignored me, as much as it would hurt if you didn't.
I saw how lonely you were but you were so caring in this tough love, cold manner of yours. How well you listened whenever I spoke, and the detached, yet strangely attentive way you heard me. You were nothing but a contradiction, unto yourself, and unto the effect you had on me.
I cannot pinpoint when I found myself unable to stop thinking about you. But I can remember how stark it felt. How it hurt so, thinking of your waxen complexion and your frowning mouth and your hard-to-read eyes hollowed me out with an aching desire and filled me up again, creating this awful cycle.
It confuses me so, in all honesty. You disarm me with your charm. It's evident, I fall for the jerks.
But it's not all gold, because it isn't true. They could be kind and nice and all that, but it just gives me a rather convenient reason as to why they're just right to fall for. The fact that I've never let out who I've truly fallen for just shows how much I have to strive to keep this in; suppress it, and continue to pretend.
It is strange to say I cannot pin point where it all started but maybe it could have been the way you said my name. Maybe how sometimes you'd look at me in this way I can never describe. How sometimes we'd cross each other's paths and regard each other with a nonchalance so deep, it'd cut me through. Maybe that's how I knew- that it would hurt if you ignored me, as much as it would hurt if you didn't.
I saw how lonely you were but you were so caring in this tough love, cold manner of yours. How well you listened whenever I spoke, and the detached, yet strangely attentive way you heard me. You were nothing but a contradiction, unto yourself, and unto the effect you had on me.
I cannot pinpoint when I found myself unable to stop thinking about you. But I can remember how stark it felt. How it hurt so, thinking of your waxen complexion and your frowning mouth and your hard-to-read eyes hollowed me out with an aching desire and filled me up again, creating this awful cycle.
It confuses me so, in all honesty. You disarm me with your charm. It's evident, I fall for the jerks.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Hollow
You know what's funny is how when you fall for someone, there is this hole in you that opens up to accommodate them. The deeper you fall for them, the larger the hole gets, creating this illusion that you are welcoming them in. You don't ever realize until it's too late, that the cavity is hollowing you out, ripping you apart from the inside.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Sometimes I look at you and I wonder how is it that I fell so hard. All those poems and furious torrent of feelings; the happiness then the sadness and the disappointment. Then the rush of emotions- the chasing and the giving up then the half hearted chase to keep you close.
But after all that, I guess it was because I was just terribly lonely. I'd fallen in love with my own desolation.
But after all that, I guess it was because I was just terribly lonely. I'd fallen in love with my own desolation.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
This year I don't want people to remember my birthday. I don't want it to be some kind of obligation for people to go up and say "happy birthday" though they wouldn't mean it.
Besides, what is there to look forward to? This year I turn 18, which I am absolutely dreading. Being 17 wasn't anything significant to me, except for the fact that I liked the number rolling around in my mouth. 17...older and wiser than 16 but young enough to have fun before 18- a way too old age.
Apart from that, the fact that I age every year is pretty depressing. Every year I come closer to death, and the scariest thing of all is how I might not even live through my next birthday. Death is inevitable and so is the fact that I will never know when I'll die. I'm not prepared...I am so so far away from faith and far from being prepared.
I don't see a meaning to birthdays anymore. It used to mean a lot when many many people wished me happy birthday, made me feel important. But now I guess it only really matters when you get to spend the day you grow older with the ones you treasure the most. That is all that matters.
Besides, what is there to look forward to? This year I turn 18, which I am absolutely dreading. Being 17 wasn't anything significant to me, except for the fact that I liked the number rolling around in my mouth. 17...older and wiser than 16 but young enough to have fun before 18- a way too old age.
Apart from that, the fact that I age every year is pretty depressing. Every year I come closer to death, and the scariest thing of all is how I might not even live through my next birthday. Death is inevitable and so is the fact that I will never know when I'll die. I'm not prepared...I am so so far away from faith and far from being prepared.
I don't see a meaning to birthdays anymore. It used to mean a lot when many many people wished me happy birthday, made me feel important. But now I guess it only really matters when you get to spend the day you grow older with the ones you treasure the most. That is all that matters.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Monday, January 6, 2014
Here's to holding on
Sometimes, when you try so hard to hold onto something, you don't notice it slips out of your hands; you open up your clenched fist and realize you are but holding on tightly...to yourself.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
I'm lost, I really am.
I feel all panicky and lost and clammed up, it's crazy.
I was spending my new year's eve with my old friends yesterday at one of their houses and it was so unbelievably awkward. With our plates in front of us piled with food, we couldn't think of much to say and occupied the silence with eating and occasional giggling. Then it hit me.
Sometimes, friendships aren't meant to be, no matter how much you promise each other or try to ease in a listening ear or two or give hugs or hang out. Distance, distance will always be that immense factor that separates you from what was once your group of closest friends. The absence has been so vast that when you finally come together, there is nothing to talk about to bridge the gap of our different experiences. You could tell your friend about an average day at your own school, but you would never be able to tell them with the same eagerness interesting things that have happened to you. It's just not the same. It never will be. The time spent apart has been too prolonged that you even start wondering if it's worth it to continue and keep trying, because it's like you're sitting at a table with a group of strangers.
Something else that hurts and stings me (oh, what's new right?) is how I feel like I'm the biggest stranger to them. With them, I've changed. I realize it myself, how quiet I am around them, how I just sit and listen to their conversations, how I smile shyly almost as if I've just met them, how I'm always looking down and not contributing much to the banter that always seems to rise from them after they warm up with each other. And in my listening, I notice. I notice how all of them have something in common. How all of them have met up together before, had lunch at each other's schools, met their friends, made friends with their friends, so they all have that something to laugh about together. They never met my friends, never called to ask if I was ever free to have a meal together, never bothered. But I shouldn't even be surprised I guess, because I honestly cannot deny the fact that all my years I've spent with them, they have always kept secrets from me, always known something else they wouldn't bother to bring up to me thinking I wouldn't realize. Maybe because I was the one who never bothered. Maybe in this way I'm spoilt ; in all my experiences with people, I've been so indifferent to their leaving and so nonchalant about my own leaving. But that small crevice in my heart still holds a tiny hope that they are going to turn and call me back, try hard for me so I won't go. It's always that tiny expectance. I admit it.
A year from now, who's to say it'll be easy to bring us all together? Maybe a year from now the facade will drop and everyone of them will decide there's nothing to bridge the crack (for me, a hole) that's formed between us.
Something else I'd like to pour out here is the way it seems like I'm losing myself more and more. I think everyone is afflicted with the same problem- loss, but of varying levels of intensity. For example, I could tell you I lost my wallet from carelessness, but someone else has lost a friend to conflict, and another one has lost a parent to death. So you see, we are all but the same. In some way or another.
I was looking through my old things to decide which to throw out (btw I am hoarder and I hardly ever throw away stuff out of my sentimentality and the constant thinking that I might need that something in the future) when panic ripped inside me and with a shocking realization, it hit me that I couldn't remember where I'd gotten some of my things. I 'd forgotten who had given me that letter with the words of encouragement, who had given me that keychain, why or for who was it that I had that half sewn stuffed toy I'd never gotten around to finish, when did I write that short poem on that piece of paper, why did I scribble those few words on that crumpled card....I had completely forgotten. These were all physical forms of memories and I had forgotten. It tore through me so hard, for I, a hoarder, had kept all these little things as way of memory yet ironically I had forgotten each purpose and reason behind each object I had found. It was depressing, maddening.
It's oh so difficult to find someone to sit and talk to because it's always either that worry that you're disturbing them, or conversations are never sincere because you know when people only talk to you so they can go on and on about their complicated love life. Don't get me wrong- I absolutely enjoy sitting down and listening to you pour out your woes to me- it makes me feel trusted- but sometimes I need a break, I need solace, I need comfort and someone to reassure me. Make me feel like I can pick myself up and leave behind the sadness and the anger welled up inside me and become happy again. Truly happy.
You're always looking for that one person, that soul mate.
I was spending my new year's eve with my old friends yesterday at one of their houses and it was so unbelievably awkward. With our plates in front of us piled with food, we couldn't think of much to say and occupied the silence with eating and occasional giggling. Then it hit me.
Sometimes, friendships aren't meant to be, no matter how much you promise each other or try to ease in a listening ear or two or give hugs or hang out. Distance, distance will always be that immense factor that separates you from what was once your group of closest friends. The absence has been so vast that when you finally come together, there is nothing to talk about to bridge the gap of our different experiences. You could tell your friend about an average day at your own school, but you would never be able to tell them with the same eagerness interesting things that have happened to you. It's just not the same. It never will be. The time spent apart has been too prolonged that you even start wondering if it's worth it to continue and keep trying, because it's like you're sitting at a table with a group of strangers.
Something else that hurts and stings me (oh, what's new right?) is how I feel like I'm the biggest stranger to them. With them, I've changed. I realize it myself, how quiet I am around them, how I just sit and listen to their conversations, how I smile shyly almost as if I've just met them, how I'm always looking down and not contributing much to the banter that always seems to rise from them after they warm up with each other. And in my listening, I notice. I notice how all of them have something in common. How all of them have met up together before, had lunch at each other's schools, met their friends, made friends with their friends, so they all have that something to laugh about together. They never met my friends, never called to ask if I was ever free to have a meal together, never bothered. But I shouldn't even be surprised I guess, because I honestly cannot deny the fact that all my years I've spent with them, they have always kept secrets from me, always known something else they wouldn't bother to bring up to me thinking I wouldn't realize. Maybe because I was the one who never bothered. Maybe in this way I'm spoilt ; in all my experiences with people, I've been so indifferent to their leaving and so nonchalant about my own leaving. But that small crevice in my heart still holds a tiny hope that they are going to turn and call me back, try hard for me so I won't go. It's always that tiny expectance. I admit it.
A year from now, who's to say it'll be easy to bring us all together? Maybe a year from now the facade will drop and everyone of them will decide there's nothing to bridge the crack (for me, a hole) that's formed between us.
Something else I'd like to pour out here is the way it seems like I'm losing myself more and more. I think everyone is afflicted with the same problem- loss, but of varying levels of intensity. For example, I could tell you I lost my wallet from carelessness, but someone else has lost a friend to conflict, and another one has lost a parent to death. So you see, we are all but the same. In some way or another.
I was looking through my old things to decide which to throw out (btw I am hoarder and I hardly ever throw away stuff out of my sentimentality and the constant thinking that I might need that something in the future) when panic ripped inside me and with a shocking realization, it hit me that I couldn't remember where I'd gotten some of my things. I 'd forgotten who had given me that letter with the words of encouragement, who had given me that keychain, why or for who was it that I had that half sewn stuffed toy I'd never gotten around to finish, when did I write that short poem on that piece of paper, why did I scribble those few words on that crumpled card....I had completely forgotten. These were all physical forms of memories and I had forgotten. It tore through me so hard, for I, a hoarder, had kept all these little things as way of memory yet ironically I had forgotten each purpose and reason behind each object I had found. It was depressing, maddening.
It's oh so difficult to find someone to sit and talk to because it's always either that worry that you're disturbing them, or conversations are never sincere because you know when people only talk to you so they can go on and on about their complicated love life. Don't get me wrong- I absolutely enjoy sitting down and listening to you pour out your woes to me- it makes me feel trusted- but sometimes I need a break, I need solace, I need comfort and someone to reassure me. Make me feel like I can pick myself up and leave behind the sadness and the anger welled up inside me and become happy again. Truly happy.
You're always looking for that one person, that soul mate.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, December 16, 2013
I am leaving for Nepal tomorrow at dawn and while I must say I will miss a few special people, I hope it'll be good chance for me to find myself again. I need the peace and the calm, away from busy city life to help me find a sense of what it is to be put in this world. I've realized that is possible that being away from people besides my family is what is going to help me reach my peak again, just like where I once was.
Friday, December 6, 2013
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Attraction
To me there are two kinds of beauty, I think.
One is the in-your-face kind, the one that takes your breath away the first time you set your eyes on them, with features set so stark and sharp and melts a couple hundred hearts. The common good looks.With an air of grace and elegance that surrounds them; they are so sure, so confident, so proud of their looks. But it fades the more you stare at them, makes you realize they appear ordinary in fact, there's nothing remotely special or interesting nor unconventional about the way their face has been molded- until the next time you see them again.
The second is the more endearing kind. The plain Janes. The kind you'd never notice or think much of if you ever walked past them. Most wouldn't give a second glance, and that's the beauty of it. It takes that one person to look at them from afar, notice how their face lights up with a transcendent glow whenever they smile or laugh; the kind of beauty that grows the more you look at them- they get more and more beautiful the more you see them- and they don't ever realize how mesmerizing they actually are to the eyes of the onlookers who stopped to watch them bloom.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Hell.
The past week has been ultimate hell. I actually thought Monday would turn out good, but it ended in tears and swearing and in a span of 5 days I have come to realize where my faith lies in such extreme circumstances. The series of events have taken an incredibly huge toll on me and I am exhausted, I really, truly am. I know it was selfish of me to think that God must hate me, because all these are just trials and he is testing me for a better good. But I cannot see where this is going. I have been doing so badly in class, my focus has dwindled, everything has been so affected badly and I really don't know what to do. I know that with such a tribulation I should be thankful because it is supposed to bring me closer to God, but I am just so angry and sad and tired. I don't know what to do anymore. I am furious at myself and I am lost. There is nobody to blame but myself, and every event that turns out that seems to shine with a glimmer of hope eventually comes along with a new set of problems, why is this happening? I honestly feel so helpless every single day, I'm too exhausted to fight anymore, I think I am just going to give up and I just want this nightmare to end.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
mess
For about a week I've been thinking about what to write. I keep putting writing off, having a thought and then hastily pushing it to the back of my mind, or having it developing into something deep and profound, turning the thought in my head and then waving it off again. sigh. As a result, my brain has been pretty cluttered up and sometimes I feel lost, among other things. So where do I start?
Happiness. It doesn't last, obviously. Lately I've been laughing at a lot of things, and the rather strange thing is that I don't feel the way I should. It's almost as if the hollower I feel, the more I laugh like it's a reflex- my mind's way of trying to fill me up. I laugh too much and even when I shouldn't; the stupidest things make me giggle even when it isn't funny at all. But it'll pass, I hope.
Another thing I've been thinking about is how I have this tendency to speak too soon. "Famous last words" is really rather highly applicable to my life. What's new, huh. Everyone is just going to prove me wrong even when I think well or highly of them. At the tip of my mind is a list of people who've turned out to be the exact opposite of who I've perceived them to be.
1.) Just because someone calls you and everyone by really sweet terms doesn't necessarily make them nice. You end up watching them and realizing they don't actually care about people around them and they're pretty much fake. I've shivered with anger when I see how people like them pretend to care for their own selfish reasons, so they don't look lonely. As long as it seems like a direct affront to them they take things too personally and then it sickens me when they try to look like some sort of victim when I actually agree they deserve shit. Friends? Lol at your entire existence.
2.) I wish I never did put up with you the first time we met because now I'm obliged to be nice and polite to you all the stupid frickin time. Funny? You're shit. Annoying. I hate having to pretend I'm ok with someone and that I like them. I either hate you or I don't and will ignore you accordingly. Gosh, I am such a walking contradiction I go against my own principles. I'm not going to put up with your shit anymore.
3.) Dammit is it like some kind of inborn need to hear yourself talk all the frickin time? What you did was just rude, crass and unprofessional and if you pride yourself for it, it tells a lot about who you are. Let's get this straight- no matter how bright or smart you are, being rude and arrogant will never do justice to your IQ. If you really look highly on yourself for being super clever, shit attitude just doesn't cut it and lack of good character is just another way to show lack of knowledge. So, you don't actually have it all.
4.) You want all eyes on you and you just crave attention, don't you? Oh, you love it when you tell people everything about yourself but I know you don't give two shits when people talk to you about themselves. You can't stand looking lonely. Evidently, image is all that matters to you :-)
5.) Don't talk to me only when you need something. I was never a "priority" to you, so please, solve your own problems.
Something else I feel very uncomfortable with, almost to the verge of hate- when people say "ohmigosh I have missed you so so so much!!!1!!! meet soon ok?"
I hate it because the meet ups never happen. Always the fleeting bumping into and then the ((fake)) gushing and the ((empty)) promises that we'll see each other again for lunch, or some outing or whatever. It never happens. I have not met some of my secondary school friends for nearly a year. Admittedly, I have always wanted an escape, but I have never felt the obligation to meet with them again. Why can't friends who bump into each other, who haven't seen each other in ages just give each other a great big hug, exclaim that we haven't seen each other in a long time, then just admit that we will not have time for each other again. It's better, okay. It stings, but at least it's true and nobody has to fulfill any sort of obligation to reluctantly meet up, and no expectations are built on empty, hastily generalized words.
I really don't know how to end this post properly, because I honestly just regurgitated everything that's been hogging my mind and I needed to clear it all. I hope I post again tomorrow, but whatever nobody reads this shit anyway.
Happiness. It doesn't last, obviously. Lately I've been laughing at a lot of things, and the rather strange thing is that I don't feel the way I should. It's almost as if the hollower I feel, the more I laugh like it's a reflex- my mind's way of trying to fill me up. I laugh too much and even when I shouldn't; the stupidest things make me giggle even when it isn't funny at all. But it'll pass, I hope.
Another thing I've been thinking about is how I have this tendency to speak too soon. "Famous last words" is really rather highly applicable to my life. What's new, huh. Everyone is just going to prove me wrong even when I think well or highly of them. At the tip of my mind is a list of people who've turned out to be the exact opposite of who I've perceived them to be.
1.) Just because someone calls you and everyone by really sweet terms doesn't necessarily make them nice. You end up watching them and realizing they don't actually care about people around them and they're pretty much fake. I've shivered with anger when I see how people like them pretend to care for their own selfish reasons, so they don't look lonely. As long as it seems like a direct affront to them they take things too personally and then it sickens me when they try to look like some sort of victim when I actually agree they deserve shit. Friends? Lol at your entire existence.
2.) I wish I never did put up with you the first time we met because now I'm obliged to be nice and polite to you all the stupid frickin time. Funny? You're shit. Annoying. I hate having to pretend I'm ok with someone and that I like them. I either hate you or I don't and will ignore you accordingly. Gosh, I am such a walking contradiction I go against my own principles. I'm not going to put up with your shit anymore.
3.) Dammit is it like some kind of inborn need to hear yourself talk all the frickin time? What you did was just rude, crass and unprofessional and if you pride yourself for it, it tells a lot about who you are. Let's get this straight- no matter how bright or smart you are, being rude and arrogant will never do justice to your IQ. If you really look highly on yourself for being super clever, shit attitude just doesn't cut it and lack of good character is just another way to show lack of knowledge. So, you don't actually have it all.
4.) You want all eyes on you and you just crave attention, don't you? Oh, you love it when you tell people everything about yourself but I know you don't give two shits when people talk to you about themselves. You can't stand looking lonely. Evidently, image is all that matters to you :-)
5.) Don't talk to me only when you need something. I was never a "priority" to you, so please, solve your own problems.
Something else I feel very uncomfortable with, almost to the verge of hate- when people say "ohmigosh I have missed you so so so much!!!1!!! meet soon ok?"
I hate it because the meet ups never happen. Always the fleeting bumping into and then the ((fake)) gushing and the ((empty)) promises that we'll see each other again for lunch, or some outing or whatever. It never happens. I have not met some of my secondary school friends for nearly a year. Admittedly, I have always wanted an escape, but I have never felt the obligation to meet with them again. Why can't friends who bump into each other, who haven't seen each other in ages just give each other a great big hug, exclaim that we haven't seen each other in a long time, then just admit that we will not have time for each other again. It's better, okay. It stings, but at least it's true and nobody has to fulfill any sort of obligation to reluctantly meet up, and no expectations are built on empty, hastily generalized words.
I really don't know how to end this post properly, because I honestly just regurgitated everything that's been hogging my mind and I needed to clear it all. I hope I post again tomorrow, but whatever nobody reads this shit anyway.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
“What’s it like when you see him?”
It feels like this:
I choke on my words as if someone just rammed five
rocks down my throat
I stutter like mad, like someone tied little bells on
each of my teeth
When I do manage to talk, my voice either lowers or raises an octave.
Plus I have to swallow. Many, many times.
My heart shuttles back and forth, hurtling against my
chest (My ribcage) at what feels like 10 million miles a second. It hurts.
My pulse speeds up, like my veins are about to burst
from the sudden rush of blood, you’d probably see a bulging vein on my wrist
I feel like I’ve gotten absolutely warm all over; my
cheeks turn hot, I see red and orange and sometimes maybe pink
I can’t breathe.
My fingers lose their grip on everything, or they
flutter about uselessly
I turn away from you, I don’t face you when you’re
right in front of me
I’m too nervous to smile. When I do, it feels like
someone forcefully peeled my lips back, tacked them to my upper and lower lips.
My knees literally go all weak. It sounds cliché but
it’s true as heck
I leave for a while so I can regain my composure and
try to stop the shaking in my hands
|Then I look at you and you look at me and we pretend, because all there is, is pretending.|
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
"What do you suffer from?" "Guilt."
You ask why I'm so quiet.
Maybe you think, "I don't want you to look at me and think of my dad dying."
But I can't ok. Pretending is what I claim to do but in circumstances like these I just can't. I 'd rather be silent than engage in small, banal talk.
I know you hate it and you think I'm pitying you but I'm not. I'm not. All there is, is guilt. That's it. I've left people way too many times, and I'm not going to leave you. I'm trying hard to make it up to you, to be there for you. I'm learning.
What breaks my heart the most is imagining you cry yourself to sleep. Out of everything that's what I think of the most. And again, guilt. Because I couldn't be there for you at such a point in time. But I am not your pity party.
Maybe you think, "I don't want you to look at me and think of my dad dying."
But I can't ok. Pretending is what I claim to do but in circumstances like these I just can't. I 'd rather be silent than engage in small, banal talk.
I know you hate it and you think I'm pitying you but I'm not. I'm not. All there is, is guilt. That's it. I've left people way too many times, and I'm not going to leave you. I'm trying hard to make it up to you, to be there for you. I'm learning.
What breaks my heart the most is imagining you cry yourself to sleep. Out of everything that's what I think of the most. And again, guilt. Because I couldn't be there for you at such a point in time. But I am not your pity party.
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